


Count You On My Hands

by crispyjenkins



Series: Crispy Writes [5]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Secretly Married, Angst with a Happy Ending, Jedi Culture Respected, M/M, Padawan Shenanigans, Stewjoni Culture and Customs, Temporary Character Death, by which i mean wholesome sane relationships, givin the gays everything they ask for, mentions of Melida/Daan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:41:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26868319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crispyjenkins/pseuds/crispyjenkins
Summary: “I’ve got an idea,” he says with a roguish grin, and Obi-Wan is young and stupid and scared, and knows exactly what he’s planning.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Quinlan Vos
Series: Crispy Writes [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1960120
Comments: 33
Kudos: 596





	Count You On My Hands

**Author's Note:**

> saw how sad the quinobi tag is over here, so i thought i'd crosspost this! originally posted 8/16/2020, and has been very lightly edited.

The greatest injustice of it all is that Quinlan and Master Tholme had just left the Temple when the council had sent him and Qui-Gon to Melida/Daan, just as Quinlan had not been there when Obi-Wan had been sent to the Agricorp. Quinlan had almost strangled him for that, when he’d shown back up from Bandomeer trailing behind his new master, and, honestly, Obi-Wan hadn’t blamed him.

When the contingent of Jedi and their padawans arrive in the capital city of Zehava to help negotiate with Neild and the Young, Quinlan hugs him instead. 

And Obi-Wan hasn’t eaten properly in weeks, he’s been sleeping in the sewers, and Cerasi’s blood is still caked under his fingernails, and Quinlan nearly knocks him over with the force of their collision. He wraps Obi-Wan up so tight it almost feels like they’d never even left the créche — he’s always felt more like home than the Temple, anyways.

“Let’s not do that again,” Quinlan says, surprisingly in control of his voice for how wrecked he’d sounded after Bandomeer.

With shaking hands, Obi-Wan hugs him back, twisting his fingers into the back of Quinlan’s robes until he can’t feel them anymore. “I’ll say goodbye properly, next time,” he promises hoarsely, feeling Master Qui-Gon prod at his mind in concern before Master Tholme leads him away. 

Quinlan makes a distressed noise and hugs him tighter. “Or you could stop kriffing almost getting killed every mission, yeah? I swear by the Maker that if Master Yoda has to sit me down _one more time_ to ‘break the news’ to me that you’ve gone awol, I’m going to throw you into a sarlacc.”

Obi-Wan does suppose it’s a little unfair to do this to his friends nearly every time he leaves the Temple, but with a galaxy so big and so full of need, he knows he can’t promise that. 

So he presses his forehead into Quinlan’s collarbone, releasing his hands just long enough to tuck himself into Quinlan’s robes instead, and nods against him anyways. “You’d have to find a sarlacc first, Quin,” he says, like making a joke of it will excuse that he’d almost gone and left Quinlan alone again. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll just stick you on a desert planet, and with your luck, the sarlacc will find _you.”_

The greatest injustice of it all is that Obi-Wan knows before Qui-Gon even opens his mouth what he’s going to say. No one ever looks at someone like that with good news.

They excuse him from his last lesson so he can find a private meditation room to process, but Obi-Wan goes to Master Tholme’s apartment instead. He leaves the bedroom doors closed, the quartermaster will send someone to sort through their belongings later, and he settles on Quinlan’s meditation stool in the main room. He knows Quinlan has more belongings than is typically appropriate of a Jedi, but Tholme keeps the living spaces clean and bare, neutral colours blurring together until the white walls stare back at Obi-Wan in accusation.

He should have known he wouldn’t be able to meditate, anyways.

After Qui-Gon goes to bed, leaving Obi-Wan with murmured words of assurance and a ruffle of his hair, Obi-Wan slips out of their quarters in his darkest robes. He meets Luminara and Bant in the Room of a Thousand Fountains, and they know it’s impossible that their little escapade has gone completely unnoticed, but no one stops them from winding through the different fountains until they reach the one modeled to resemble a spring on Kiffu. None of them had ever been to Quinlan’s home planet, but Obi-Wan had come here often with him even in their créche days, and dropping to sit in the yellow dirt doesn’t hurt as much as he thought it would.

Luminara sets a simple clay incense burner on the edge of the fountain wall, lighting it as Bant lays out a small offering plate with Quinlan’s favourite sweetcake; they don’t make Obi-Wan help as they go about fixing an altar with little bits from all their cultures, the water-filled quiet between them heavier so heavy it reminds him of those nights on Melida/Daan.

“Did—” Obi-Wan swallows even though his mouth is dry. “Did you all do this for me, before?”

His friends exchange a look before nodding. “Both times,” Bant says softly, lighting the last candle before joining him on the ground and for once not worrying about laying out a blanket first. 

“Quinlan almost didn’t come to the second one,” Luminara admits, standing over the altar with her eyes closed as she breathes in the incense. 

Obi-Wan simply nods, because that does sound like Quinlan, and he feels horrid all over again for making Quinlan go through this, _twice._ Inhaling a sigh, Obi-Wan finds the holodisk hidden away in his robes and sets it next to the incense. 

None of them can bear to turn it on.

The greatest injustice of it all is that, for some reason, Master Tholme did not contact the Temple before hitching a ride back from the moon where the unhappy locals had bombed their ship. And Obi-Wan _knows_ Master Tholme didn’t tell the council they were in fact alive, because then the council would have told _Obi-Wan._

He feels it the moment their ship docks, Quinlan’s presence flooding his mind until his fingers tingle with it, and he shoots to his feet.

The class of senior padawans stare at him in surprise, and Master Prweex stops mid-lecture, chirping in concer. “Is everything alright, Padawan Kenobi?”

Breath caught somewhere in his throat, Obi-Wan doesn’t answer, and instead scrambles from the classroom, opening the door with the Force before he can slam into it. 

Despite popular superstition, Jedi cannot teleport, but Obi-Wan honestly couldn’t say how he made it from the lesson halls to one of the main hangars, where a small group of Jedi masters stand next to a shamble of a ship that spews smoke from several panels. And, there, Master Tholme looking ragged and tired, robes still stained from the explosion and with a cast on his right arm, but Obi-Wan’s eyes snap immediately to the padawan on his side.

Quinlan is a little worse for wear, and his braids hang around his shoulders instead of pulled up, not that Obi-Wan cares as he sprints the last few yards and launches himself at his friend. The masters step cleanly out of the way, likely having sensed his approach from a few hallways away, but Quinlan clearly hadn’t, yelping as he stumbles to catch him. It isn’t until then that Obi-Wan can accept that, yes, he had mourned him, but for some reason the Force had decided _“not yet”._

“Obes?” Quinlan asks softly when Obi-Wan doesn’t pull his head away from his chest. 

“Hmm,” Master Rancisis chuckles, the sound edged in saddness. “Perhaps Kenobi needs a moment, Padawan Vos; it has been a long few weeks in your absence.” 

And Obi-Wan is more than content to stay there the rest of the day, even though Quinlan smells like he hasn’t bathed in a week – and he probably hadn’t. Quinlan still hugs him back and bleeds worry into the Force, as Master Tholme gently runs a hand over the back of Obi-Wan’s head and sighs.

“I know what Melida/Daan did to my padawan, so I can imagine what you’ve been through the last few weeks.” When Obi-Wan still doesn’t pull away, he continues, “You know, now that I think about it, during their clan wars the Stewjoni had a special marriage rite, when one thought dead returned to them.”

“Master?” Quinlan asks in confusion, but Obi-Wan grips his robes tighter. He does remember Master Nu mentioning something…

Master Tholme laughs, only a little rough, and steps away to join the other masters who have started slowly making their way from the hangar. “I suppose I thought it funny, padawan,” he says, “that, if I recall the ceremony correctly, you’re both halfway there already. You will meet me in the Halls of Healing when you’re ready? I’d like to get the cut of yours looked at.”

“Of course, master. Gimme a few minutes.”

“Of course, padawan.”

Tholme sometimes did that, dropped little bits of trivia any time something jogged his memory, and he didn’t often mean anything by it; even with this in mind, Obi-Wan can’t help but hope.

Quinlan waits until the masters’ footsteps recede, before gently tugging on Obi-Wan’s nerftail until he looks up. “I’ve got an idea,” he says with a roguish grin, and Obi-Wan is young and stupid and scared, and knows exactly what he’s planning.

“You ready?”

“This is probably illegal, Quinlan.”

“Not according to Master Nu, it isn’t.”

“Well, I’m probably going to Stewjoni hell anyways, I guess.”

“Before we do this, I need you to promise me something, Obi-Wan.”

“…”

“We can’t let this get in the way, we can’t… We’re almost knights, Obi, we’ve worked too hard to lose that now. We’ll always have to come second to the Order, you understand that, right?”

“Quinlan Vos, are you backing out on me? This was _your_ idea.”

“And you agreed! Stop laughing, I’m serious.”

“I know you are, Quin. I’m somehow more ready now than I was ten minutes ago.”

“Good. Because you know I would follow you anywhere.”

“And I would follow you into this.”

“Good. Now shut up and light the candle.”

It’s Kit that brings Obi-Wan the datapad with all the forms for his induction onto the council, along with advice and a smile that makes Obi-Wan think maybe accepting the position had not been a mistake.

Unlike either his master or his own padawan, Obi-Wan is efficient with his paperwork, he knows the quicker he gets it done, the more time he can spend _not_ doing paperwork, just as he knows that to be thorough the first time is to avoid having to do it a second.

Only one question on the forms gives him pause:

_Is the inductee married in any culture(s)’s customs, accidental or not?_

Well, it had been fifteen years since Quinlan had knotted a scrap of his own robes around Obi-Wan’s wrist, as Obi-Wan had done the same, and the Jedi Order is not made of fools, so he checkmarks the _Yes_ box and adds _Stewjoni_ below it, because he can’t imagine that at least the masters haven’t noticed by now.

(He would come to find that this is far from the case.)

**Author's Note:**

> a prompt fill for an anon on my tumblr @/crispyjenkins! original prompt: "Secretly married obiwan x quinlan"


End file.
